Thursday, April 9, 2015
"Do you always live like this?"
"I try to, I think."
"It's a wonder you haven't burnt (partially inaudible) yet."
"I may have burnt out. I seem to be making mistakes."
"No, I said burned up, like to a crisp. You need some down time."
"Let's go look at the really expensive scotches."
"Why don't you leave that alone tonight. We can have some later in the week."
"Yes, maybe that's a good idea. I've got Perrier at home. I'll go to bed soon."
All around were people with enough money. The cucina was lush. The food was good. It deserved good drink, too. But not this night. There had been a couple glasses of wine at dinner. That was fine.
The evening was bright and comfortable. She gave the boy the ticket for her car. A kiss, a promise. It reminded him of something. He didn't know what it was then, but he remembered wanting it. It sounded like bossa nova, like samba. It looked like a foreign movie with a forgotten title.
He watched her car pull away. Roll credits, he thought. Fin.
Posted by cafe selavy at 9:17 AM